


Service With a Mouth

by fuzipenguin



Series: Razor's Edge [7]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Master/Pet, Open Relationships, Other, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Did Jazz's hand slip or is he angling for something else entirely?





	Service With a Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> jenn-oddballpunk said: tickling; Jazz/Bluestreak

                Bluestreak’s leg jerked and he dropped his data pad to stare down at the mech kneeling in front of him. “What was that?”

                Jazz looked up, visor dim and mouth a little slack. “I’m sorry, Master?”

                “You just tickled the bottom of my foot. This is supposed to be a massage; I expect firmness in your grip,” Bluestreak scolded.

                Jazz’s head ducked and his shoulders hunched in on themselves. “Yes, Master. I apologize, Master, I will do better.”

                Bluestreak huffed out a vent of air. “See that you do,” he said with a sniff. “Or you will be punished.”

                Picking up his data pad, he stared over the top of it for several moments, making sure Jazz was doing as instructed. Finally convinced that Jazz was massaging his pede properly, Bluestreak returned his attention to the novel he had been reading.

                He had finished the current chapter and was just starting a new one when he felt that feather-soft touch again. Bluestreak yanked his feet out of Jazz’s hands and glared down at his pet.

                “ _What_ do you think you are doing?” he asked in a low tone of voice.

                Jazz cringed. “I’m sorry, Master, my hand slipped!”

                “Oh? Perhaps I’ve been letting you at it for too long. Are your hands tired?” Bluestreak asked kindly after a few seconds of contemplation. Jazz hesitantly looked up and when he saw Bluestreak gazing down with a concerned expression, Jazz nodded.

                “A little, Master.”

                Bluestreak tossed his data pad to the side before reaching out. Jazz whimpered, but didn’t flinch away as Bluestreak grasped his chin tightly. “Then you will rest them. And use your mouth instead.”

                “My… my mouth, Master?” Jazz asked, glossa slipping out to wet his lips just seconds before Bluestreak’s thump brushed against them. “To massage your feet?”

                “No. To clean them. As apparently that is all you are good for now,” Bluestreak returned, shoving Jazz’s face away. He slumped back into his chair, stretching both of his legs out. “Turn around. Arms at your back. Face down and aft up, pet. And open your panel.”

                Jazz immediately did as instructed, his aft ending up right next to the side of Bluestreak’s chair. He dropped an arm over the armrest, lightly slapping Jazz’s exposed, dripping valve without preamble. Jazz yelped in surprise, a warm puff of air rushing out over the top of Bluestreak’s pede.

                “I don’t want to see a speck of dirt on my pedes by the time that you are through. And don’t let yourself get distracted,” Bluestreak warned, possessively sliding a hand over Jazz’s aft.

“No, Master, I won’t,” Jazz promised, voice rising up from the floor.

                “Hmph. See that you don’t. Because I have no qualms about taking the use of your mouth away either. And the rest of your senses too.”

                Shuddering, Jazz bent his head and got to work.


End file.
